


Shok Nehraa-Maraas

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Allusion to earlier DA character, Alternate Origin Story, Backstory, Gen, Origin Story, lots of qunlat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little exploration of the qunari mage's character, told as a dialogue around the campfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shok Nehraa-Maraas

“So Boss - I gotta ask.  What’s your story?”

She glowers over her shoulder at him, instantly on guard.  “My story?  Is this a new Ben-Hasserath technique?  Instead of watching and waiting and sneaking about, you’ll just ask?”  He laughs and shrugs, then replies, “Well… yeah, kind of.  I got requisitions to fill too, you know.  But it’s also… mostly because I want to know.  You’re our best hope at closing the Breach, and I know my superiors are worried about that, but they’re also worried at a saarebas having so much power.  A vashoth saarebas, at that.”

As usual, his frankness unnerves her a little. Rhan adjusts the staff on her back, using the movement as a way to gather her thoughts.  It’s one thing to reject the Qun entirely, but being of qunari decent and knowing next to nothing about the details of qunari life still perplexes her.  She decides that this is her best opportunity to learn a little more about the life her parents rejected. “Okay Bull, I’ll tell you my story.  But this is a trade of information, not Varric-style narration…”

“I heard that, Stretch! What are you implying?”

She shoots a grin over her shoulder and down, way down, to where the dwarf walks, still below them on the hill.  “Nothing but that you are a liar, Assara.  But you sure have a beautiful crossbow.”

“Oh, well that’s alright then.  And if we’re telling stories, mind if I listen in?”

Rhan sighs.  If they’re going to make it to where the Grey Wardens were last seen here in the Hinterlands of Ferelden before the dark really closes in they will have to hurry.  She hates making camp in the dark, the noise of Varric and Blackwall cursing as they struggle with canvas cover and rope puts her on edge.  For herself, she has always preferred not to bother; the Tal-Vashoth company she was with before her days with the Inquisition began never did, and that habit of sleeping out in the open dies hard.  “Alright Varric.  But you have to share too.  I want to hear more of Hawke and the Arishok.”

“Okay.  But… you know it doesn’t end well for the Arishok, right?  I don’t need a couple of grumpy qunari on my case tomorrow.”

“I second that,” Blackwall chimes in “I don’t need grumpy qunari any day.”

 

They find the area that the Wardens have been spotted in, but by then it is so dark that they elect to search in the morning.  As Blackwall makes the fire, and Bull expertly cleans the carcass of one of the nugs which Varric has shot, Rhan tries to remember how exactly she came to this point.  Once they have eaten and the fire is beginning to get low, Bull asks “So… ready, imekari?”

 

She begins with the story of her parents.  Her mother, she explains to them, was a hornless qunari, which meant that the Tamassran allowed her to become aqun-athlok when she exhibited special skill with weaponry from a young age.  Eventually, she became avaarad, the keeper of a mage whom she called Hissra.  “But I guess something went wrong somewhere.  When she and her company were in Seheron, fighting the ‘vints, she lost Hissra.  In the heat of the battle, she said he had slipped away from her.  Her karasten made her stay and look for him in the area, but it was many weeks before she found him again.  He had been taken in by fog warriors, and was using his magic to heal them, to bring their old ones and their wounded warriors the relief of a quick death.  She knew that if she took him back to the karataam, she would have to kill him outright, and the bond between them was too strong.  She became Tal-Vashoth in order to protect him from that fate.”

 

There is only the crackle of the fire to greet her pause.  She wonders how to continue when Blackwall clears his throat and asks “If you don’t mind, why would they have killed Hisser?  Because he was helping the fog warriors?”  Bull grunts, and shakes his head heavily.  His horns seem to reflect the firelight in strange patterns; she is thankful that he is prepared to explain the position of mages under the Qun as it gives her an opportunity to gather her thoughts.  “Hissra; it means illusion.  And no, not just because he disobeyed orders.  Because he was a saarebas who escaped his avaarad, and had had contact with kabethari - it means ‘those who need to be taught’,” he explains to the others. “Qunari believe that saarebas, mages, are dangerous beyond anything else - dangerous like a wildfire or a storm is dangerous.  The word means ‘dangerous thing’ - they aren’t even considered to be within the Qun.  They are shackled as soon as it becomes apparent what they are; their lips sewn shut, tounges cut out and often blinded by their avaarad.” He rolls his eyes at Varric and Blackwall’s expressions of distaste and continues, though his tone of voice is now slightly confrontational. “Much as you would keep your weapon out of reach when you weren’t using it.  It’s a matter of safety, for others as much as for the saarebas.” He turns to Rhan, his expression neutral. “So, the child of Tal-Vashoth… what?  Mercenaries, I’ll bet.”

 

She nods, “Of course.  Luckily they were able to join one of the first companies that they came across.  They took names, much like you, Bull.  But because Talan, my mother, had never been part of the world outside the Artaam, she was curious… and in her curiosity had me.”

 

Varric smiles “That’s what curiosity gets you, alright.”  Rhan smiles back at him, but where his is knowing, hers is sad “That’s true.  But it only bought her grief. Two saarebas to care for, and without the slightest notion of how to care for an infant.  She was ejected from the company, and in her despair was captured by Tevinter slavers.  My father was killed on the voyage for starting a fire in the hold.  According to my mother it was an accident that he started it, but I have my doubts, knowing how my own magic is linked to my emotions.  She was chained, raped and beaten daily by the crew.  Life inside the confines of the Qun was all she had known, and when her last link to it was stripped away, she essentially died. I was still only an infant, but my magic was obvious to the slavers, and they knew that I was a rare commodity.  So I was sold to a magister of the Imperium, with my mother.  She became one of his body guards officially, but a bedslave also.  She died when I was six or seven, and I was… groomed… to take her place.”

 

She looks at them, each in turn.  Varric is staring at the fire, an expression of mingling pity and disgust on his face - it seems this is not the story he was hoping for.  Blackwall is tense, looking at her with his brows knit together, his arms folded across the griffon on his chest.  His expression is angry, and she can’t help but warm to him for his indignation on her behalf. Finally she looks at Bull.  His expression is hard to read.  She wonders how much of this will make it into his next report to his superiors.  She continues: “I killed the magister when I was eight or nine years old.  He had interests on the outskirts of Rivani territory, and went there once a year or so to inspect them.  I knew that that would present my best chance of escape, but as you can imagine, the ‘vints have had a lot of practise at keeping slaves where they belong.  And even though I thought death would be at least a relief from my situation, I didn’t want to court it unnecessarily.  So I waited until the room guards were dozing, got them to let me into his room in the estate saying he’d called for me at this hour, and killed him with a bolt of electricity to the heart.  He had foolishly neglected to ward the room properly… or maybe he did not see me as a threat.  I left the room, and no alarm being raised, managed to escape well ahead of any pursuit. Luckily for me, I had not been lyrium branded like one of the other slaves, as that would have alerted them more quickly to my whereabouts.  I raced as fast as I could across the border and into Rivain - joined the first Tal-Vashoth company I came across just out of Kont-aar, and had been with them ever since.”

 

Silence again.  The night is growing darker still, and the rustlings and murmurings of the little animals which make their home in the darkness is broken by the scream of an owl.  She is beginning to suggest that she take the first watch when Varrick says, “Lyrium branded?  Was this slave an elf, by any chance?” She frowns, confused at how he might know of the Little Wolf, and then nods in assent.  “I don’t know what became of him.  He was another of masters… pets.  I’m not sure how he managed to survive the procedure, either - lyrium branding was an experiment of masters, and I overheard him complaining how much stock he had wasted trying to perfect it.”  Blackwall snorts, “Stock.  Disgusting.”

“That’s the ‘vints for you.” The Iron Bull rises, stretches his arms then pulls on his horns, making his biceps bulge.  He lowers his arms to his sides, and then says seriously “Panahedan, imakari.  Asit tal-eb; maraas shokra.  I’ll take first watch tonight.”

 

+++++

 

The next Rhan knows, Varric is shaking her in the pre-dawn light.  She wakes quickly; years of mercenary training keep her sleep light at the best of times. She smiles at him as he quickly tucks Bianca under his arm and pushes aside the flap of canvas over the mouth of the shelter he shares with Blackwall.  He sees her look and grimaces, rolling his eyes comically at the snores emanating from beneath.  “If I can get back to sleep at all, I’ll be a Paragon” he mutters, and ducks beneath the canvas..

 

She walks their perimeter, observing the changes in the light as it suffuses the landscape with colour. Slowly, greys turn to blues, and blues to aquamarine and cobolt, sky and shadow.  She is looking out over the forests to the north, toward Redcliffe, when she hears movement behind her.  In one movement her staff is out, her mark flaring green.  But it’s Bull; he can still out stealth her, but Sera says the both of them sound like shiteing elephants to her. “Boss,” he says “about last night…”

“Bull, you don’t have to, I mean... “

“No. It was brave of you.  I know that it can be hard, living with the past.  And when others have made the choice for you… that’s even harder.  But I wanted to ask this, and this is just for personal interest, so no need to answer if you don’t want.  Did you never consider submitting to the Ben-Hasserath?  To be educated into the Qun?”

She is shocked, and it must show nakedly on her face because he quickly continues, “I know, dumb question.  I mean, if it was an option between Tal-Vashoth and having my hands shackled and lips sewn shut, I guess I’d chose Tal-Vashoth too.  It’s just… you’ve never known your purpose.  You’ve never known the freedom under the Qun that your mother knew.  Doesn’t it… call to you?”

“Honestly Bull… yes.  It does.  But you’re right - the thought of submitting for reeducation always filled me with more dread than anything else. To be kept a prisoner inside my own head, always with my avaarad, to be used,  used only as a weapon, never spoken to as a person, never loved, always feared and reviled…” she falters into silence for a moment, then continues  “This life is all I’ve ever known.  The Tal-Vashoth are a lot of things, but they’re not afraid of much.”

“You know, I get it.  On some level.  And I suppose that’s just the Ben-Hasserath in me talking; you can take the enforcer out of the priesthood, but you can’t take the priesthood out of the enforcer.  Wanna go find some dragons?”

She smiles, the only person in the Inquisition that she doesn’t have to look down to look in their eyes.  “Yes.  Let’s find them, and fight them.  And kill them, of course.”

He laughs, a joyful rumbling bellow.  “You got it, Boss.”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't translated the basic qunlat that's used a lot in the games, but I thought I should do the phrases that I made up from out of whole cloth. They are in order from the text.  
> Shok nehraa-maraas: War (or struggle) for nothing  
> Assara: wind (I thought that would be a good nickname for Varric)  
> Imekari: child  
> Asit tal-eb: "it is to be"  
> Maraas-shokra: "There is nothing to struggle against"  
> 


End file.
